


Divergence

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony gets a job offer. Now he needs to figure out what to do with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Divergence

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 8x01 "Spider and the Fly", and yes, it contains few spoilers. It also contains quite a bunch of scenes that are not suitable for the average work environment and lean towards the adult side of life. (There. That's a nice way of putting it, yes?)
> 
> thanks: to lou_c for the title.

He exhales very slowly when Vance's office door closes behind him. It feels like he's been holding his breath forever. His chest is tight and the folder in his hand weighs about a ton, even though it only contains a few sheets of paper. 

_'A word, Agent DiNozzo.'_

Tony is confused, like a puppy left by the roadside and staring after its owner's car. His mind keeps throwing fragments of their discussion at him, and he has no idea how to turn off that particular director's commentary.

_'Are you aware of the fact that Agent Macy's position in Marseille still hasn't been filled?'_

He needs a few more moments before he can face the others, and so he stops in front of MTAC, steps close to the railing and rests his arms on it. 

He has no idea what he's supposed to do now. His thumb slides over the cover of the manila folder, once, twice. His heartbeat trips over itself, and he blinks while he tries to sort the thoughts that insist on chasing each other.

_'I swear, if I were just a little more insecure I would make something out of the fact that every director of this agency tries to get me off the continent.'_

He stares down into the bullpen and watches McGee pack up his stuff after a short argument with Gibbs, and Tony is relieved because it saves him the trouble of sending the probie home when the boss isn't looking. The baby agent has spent more hours on the roll during the past days than any of them and he deserves a good round of sleep.

His gaze drifts to Ziva's face just in time to catch her expression. There's an uncharacteristic fondness ghosting over her face while she watches McGee yawn on his way out, and Tony gets the distinct feeling that she has missed this while she was in Miami. He can't blame her.

_'Doesn't Gibbs have to approve first or something like that?'_

His hands clutch the folder tighter as if that would help him with the decision he has to make now. It doesn't, of course. The folder still weighs a ton.

Ziva suddenly raises her head to meet his eyes, and from the way she looks at him he knows that she has clearly felt his gaze on her. He has no idea how she does that but for once he isn't in the mood to question her talents.

She tilts her head because of course she also knows there's something off. A small, questioning frown creases her forehead, and he shakes his head in response. Nothing's wrong, of course. Why would there be anything wrong just because Vance wants to have a little chitchat with one of his agents?

She keeps staring at him, and after a while he feels uncomfortable under her scrutiny, so he evades her gaze and looks at Gibbs instead. The boss's head is lowered in concentration over a report, and while Tony watches him he feels something strange stir in the back of his mind. Maybe it's just the angle, but viewed from up here, Gibbs doesn't seem quite as tall as he did just two days ago.

_'Actually, no. He's the one who recommended you.'_

*** *** ***

Ziva's eyes are still glued to him while he comes down the stairs, but he does his best to ignore the prickly feeling between his shoulder blades and walks past her. He knows she's still watching him and probably listening in, but he can't help it, this wants - needs - to get out now, so he throws the folder on Gibbs's desk.

"Is that your way of telling me I should grow up and move out of dad's basement?" There is a lot less humor in his voice than he had planned but he can't take the words back now, so he straightens his back and waits for Gibbs to react.

For a while, Gibbs just stares at the folder, blinking slowly. 

"No," he says eventually. "Thought it would be good for you."

Tony's mouth opens before there is an actual thought forming, but Gibbs raises a hand to silence him and then turns to Ziva, who tries her best to look like she's lost in the papers on her own desk.

"Coffee break," he orders her, and she gives up the pretense and stares at him, a question mark all over her face.

For the briefest moment her eyes flick to Tony. Then she caves. "Will ten minutes be enough?" 

Gibbs nods quietly, and so she grabs her jacket and heads towards the elevator. Once, she looks back over her shoulder, just in time to see Gibbs take the folder and lock it away in one of his drawers. Tony is pretty sure that she is dying to know what's going on, but Gibbs is right, she doesn't have to know before things are final.

*** *** ***

_'Go home, DiNozzo. Get some sleep. Think about it.'_

So far, he accomplished one out of three. In most other situations that wouldn't be a bad success rate.

_'Decision's yours. I just think it's time for you to figure out what you want, one way or the other.'_

Thinking eludes him. He tries but his thoughts try to beat him at his own avoidance game and slip away at every opportunity.

He slams the pizza carton shut and throws the half-eaten pizza into the trash. He can't remember the last time something killed his appetite. Kinda ironic that a job offer of all things manages that.

With a sigh he slumps down on the couch and flips through channels until he finds a real classic. Jack Klugman, Henry Fonda, 1957. Never gets old.

_'Some things, you just need to let go.'_

_12 Angry Men._ He stares at the screen and wonders if they have room for one more.

*** *** ***

It takes him a few more hours to shake the restlessness, but eventually, Tony's body succumbs to the need for sleep and he ends up in bed and halfway gone to dreamland.

Maybe that's the reason he doesn't stir at first when his bedroom door opens and she slips inside. Only when she closes the door softly behind herself and leans back against it he opens his eyes. Ziva's shadow watches him in the dim moonlight that fills his bedroom.

His mind insists lazily that this would be a good time to get a little more awake. His body remains blissfully relaxed, though, because it's just Ziva, after all. Technically, Ziva in his bedroom is decidedly out of the ordinary and something to be very much awake about. But for some reason he can't bring up the energy, and so he just rolls to his back languidly and waits. He wants to ask her what's up but that would require being awake enough to form words. And since she's the one breaking and entering, she can do the talking, too.

She doesn't talk, though, just keeps staring at him, and she has a slight deer-in-the-headlights aura around her that he has never seen on her before.

He's halfway back to dozing off again when she finally moves, and he stares at her in sleepy fascination while she unbuttons her shirt. She's moving slowly, shedding clothes while she creeps closer to the bed, and yeah, that does stir him, after all. His eyes trail over her while she strips down to her panties and a wife beater that hugs her curves loosely. It looks suspiciously like she snagged one of his. Maybe it's just the dim light but he can't help thinking that she looks a whole lot better in it than he usually does.

He's still waiting for her to say something. Heck, _any_ sound from her would be welcome now and would set this surreal scene back into the world he knows. But she doesn't make a sound. She just keeps staring at him with too wide eyes, even while she comes up to his bed and slips under the sheets with him, and boy, _that_ gets him wide awake in seconds.

Her fingertips are icy when she touches his bare chest, and he can't help the sharp hiss that escapes him at the sensation. She flinches and pulls back instantly, but this time he reacts and grabs her hand to keep her close.

"Cold," he explains in a low murmur while he leans into her. The single word, barely audible, still sounds too loud in the semi-darkness, and a shudder runs through Ziva. She's almost ready to run, he can feel that, and when he starts to rub her hands to get some warmth back into her, her muscles tense up even more. It's weird, like her body wants to shy away from the contact despite the fact that she is the one seeking it.

Her breath comes in fast, short bursts, and her skin is clammy under his hands. It makes him frown because that's not like Ziva. She's never been that cold. Even in the deepest winter she emanates a heat that sometimes makes him sweat just by looking at her.

"What did you do, walk here?" His voice is hushed because he doesn't want her to run, not while he's still busy getting used to this.

She doesn't run. She still doesn't talk, though, just keeps staring at him with those wide eyes while his hands gradually force some warmth back into her limbs. He's pretty confused by now but he has a hunch that asking her what this is about will not result in any kind of satisfying answer, so he doesn't bother. 

Her fingers flex in his nervously, and it seems like the natural thing to put them back to his chest. A soft shudder runs through her again at the touch. She leans closer to him involuntarily, and yeah, he gets the trembling. This is just a touch too new and confusing to take it all in stride, for both of them. 

He wonders if he is supposed to kiss her now, and while he certainly wouldn't mind that, the thought also sends a thrill through him that isn't entirely on the good side of things. But just when he is almost ready to give it a try anyway, she breathes out and leans closer to press her face into the curve of his neck. And that's just as good.

She waits for his reaction, silently, breathing in and out in a carefully controlled way. When he doesn't draw back, she pushes her arm under the sheets and around his waist, and that makes _him_ suddenly breathe out in a rush. He can't remember right now if something like this ever happened, but it feels good, and so he turns into her for more. His arms come up to hold her close, one around her neck and shoulders, the other, less sure one, around her waist.

There's still a soft tremor running through her every now and then, but by the time he falls asleep, he has learned not to mind it that much. At least she's a lot warmer now.

*** *** ***

He has slept with Ziva a few times before - 'slept with' as in 'shared sleeping accommodations'. He would never admit it but he knows too well how she looks when she's asleep. He has spent a good amount of these previous times with watching her, after all.

There was that night when she fell asleep in the van during a stakeout. (He's glad she still doesn't know he noticed that.) A certain night in Paris, when he was so hyped after the flight that he couldn't sleep until he noticed that Ziva-watching actually calmed his mind. That early undercover night when he didn't get much sleep because she was snoring like a lumberjack on crack. 

And then there was that one flight. The one he doesn't really like to think about too much. The one that seemed to go on for a small eternity and still wasn't long enough. The flight she spent with her head in his lap while he was never quite sure if she was just asleep or unconscious. The flight during which she ignored the roar of the cargo plane so easily but flinched and shuddered violently every time a human sound came close to her. He will probably never admit how much of that flight he spent with staring at her face, with looking beyond the bruises and the dirt, with ignoring the weight of McGee's gaze that seemed stuck on him - them - from the other side of the plane.

All of these previous nights spent with Ziva have not prepared Tony for what sleeping _with_ her really means.

She's back to her regular body temperature by now, and she's so much softer in his arms than he would have ever thought possible for someone like her. She also seems to have the disconcerting habit of being all over him, literally, and he has a hard time dealing with that new experience. She never struck him as the cuddly kind before, but tonight she's touching him whenever he turns, and her cheek is constantly on his chest or his arm, and her leg shows a distinct tendency to slip between his, and that's the part that's really killing him.

He spends the better part of the night half awake and half hard because he feels the strong muscles in her thigh flex whenever she stirs in her sleep. And because she keeps making these soft noises into his neck while her limbs twitch like those of a dreaming puppy. Only her noises don't sound very puppy-like, more like she started having sex with him already and just forgot to tell him about it.

*** *** ***

He's more than just halfway there when he drifts out of a particularly juicy dream. He's rock hard and ready to go, and a moan flows from his lips at the very real feeling of Ziva's hand down his boxers, stroking him slowly. Her breath quickens against his neck when she feels him wake up, and for a second her strong, sure fingers tighten around him as if she wants to keep him from pulling back.

He wants to tell her how silly that is, that he could never deny her this, because dear God, it just feels too right and downright perfect, and for some reason she already knows the way he likes it best and the strength that sets him off, and he has no idea how and when she learned that about him. He lacks the words to communicate any of these thought fragments, though, and after a few more strokes he just hopes that she'll leave him enough brain cells to figure out later how _she_ likes it best.

"Ziva," he presses out when she strokes him faster. His arm comes up around her shoulders to pull her closer, but she slides out of the embrace before it really happens. For a second he thinks about complaining because he wants to kiss her badly now, but then he loses track of that thought because she settles between his thighs and pulls his boxers down, and the new position gives her the perfect angle when she resumes her strokes.

She's really starting to explore him now, and he can't do much more than moan when she runs her thumb over the head of his dick for a few endless moments, back and forth, back and forth. He's so tense with need by now that his jaw hurts from clenching it, and the sight of Ziva, kneeling between his legs and grasping his cock, that sight gets him going so hard, especially that little frown of intense concentration creasing her forehead now, as if she's thinking about--

And then his body arcs off the bed because that's exactly what she's been thinking about, and that's no longer just her hand, that's hot lips and tongue and just a hint of teeth, and oh dear God, she's swallowing him down, just like that, and he can't--

He groans, and Ziva's lips slide down his shaft again, making him jerk up into her mouth. She keeps moving her hands on him, too, keeps wringing these uncontrollable sounds out of him, and he wants to reach for her, wants to push her hair back so he can see what he only feels, but just then she leans forward and takes him in so deep that he jerks underneath her once more and loses it.

*** *** ***

He would be willing to swear that he can feel the back of his brain tingle while he stares at the ceiling and tries to get his breathing back under control. He can feel her let go of his dick eventually, and he takes in a deep breath and tries to focus his eyes on Ziva. Her palm is pressed flat against his loin now while her other hand supports her own weight beside his hip. She has it buried deep into the sheets that are bunched up around his waist.

She's still leaning over him, and her hair is a wavy curtain that keeps him from properly seeing her face. What he can see is that she refuses to meet his eyes and keeps staring at his chest instead. He reaches out to touch her check, to brush her hair out of her face, maybe to pull her up and crush her against his chest and kiss her until neither of them can breathe. He never gets to complete the move, though, because she suddenly shies away from his touch and sits back hard on her heels.

Confusion washes over him again while she scrambles back and almost falls out of bed as if she has only now noticed what just happened between them, and he frowns at her, not sure what has provoked this reaction.

"What was that about?" he finally manages to press out, and he's not really sure what part of _that_ he's actually referring to.

She freezes in mid-movement beside the bed, still refusing to look at him directly. Her hands come up to rub her arms but she doesn't even seem to notice the motion. 

"I thought that was fairly obvious," she whispers, picking her own meaning.

His eyes narrow, and he has no idea why really, but like it so often happens between them, her words just make his hackles rise. He pulls his boxers back up harshly while he sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and her expression changes subtly. For the second she shies away from him she looks like a caged animal.

"The what is," he says, and her hands move up her arms once more and grip her own shoulders hard. "The why, not so much."

"Were you gonna tell me?" she asks, her eyes flicking to the side.

He blinks, not sure if he missed a line of information somewhere or if his brain just hasn't caught up yet with being required once more. "Tell you what?"

"About Marseille."

His irritated frown deepens. "How do you know about Marseille?" he asks, and the cornered look creeps back into her face.

"Gibbs... may have left the folder on his desk," she says, and this time Tony's eyes narrow dangerously because he knows that Gibbs certainly didn't.

"You broke into _Gibbs's_ desk?" he accuses her, and she looks more nervous now than he has ever seen her. He keeps staring her down, and that turns into a strange battle because she keeps evading his eyes. 

"You could have just asked me," he says eventually, and that is when she finally meets his gaze, almost accidentally because she is so surprised.

"You would have told me?"

He doesn't answer because he suddenly gets it, all of it, and his throat constricts with something that feels like anger but tastes bitter. "So you thought a little friendly fucking would be all it takes to keep me here?"

She flinches hard at his words and breaks the eye contact as if he just slapped her. 

"I don't know what I was thinking," she admits and bends to pick up the clothes she discarded during the night.

He's up on his feet and in her face before she has completed the movement, and he grabs her shoulders hard. The sudden contact makes her jump, and her eyes widen in something close to shock while he orders her, "Explain."

She doesn't. She just keeps staring at him with a weird mix of emotions flitting across her face that he can't place.

"Were you gonna tell me?" she asks again, and his grip tightens on her shoulders for a second.

"Yes," he says eventually, and he isn't sure how she will react to that. "After I had made a decision."

Her eyes widen impossibly. For a moment she looks downright vulnerable, and that brings an even tighter feeling to his throat.

"Decision?" she repeats. "Not order?"

"This isn't Mossad, Ziva. We do get a choice sometimes."

She flinches again, and he already regrets the words because now they both think about the time Vance _didn't_ leave them any choice. He sighs and lets go of her, and while he moves away from her, he scratches his neck. His hair is sticking into all directions at once, and suddenly he's just tired. He runs a hand over his face and ends up rubbing his eyes that burn from lack of sleep.

"He offered me Macy's position because he seems to think I'd do a good job in Marseille. And because I don't have many family or social ties here, and he's right about that, at least."

He looks at her just in time to see the brief flash of hurt that crosses her face.

"I'm not a social tie?" she asks, and her voice is so small and quiet suddenly that he has no idea what to make of it. And he's too damn tired to try on his own.

"I don't know, Ziva. You tell me." He turns and lets the sharply spoken words hang between them.

"Where are you going?" There is a new kind of tension in her voice now but it's not enough to stop him.

"Brushing my teeth," he says. When he hears her pad after him, he reaches into his supplies closet and throws her a spare toothbrush, still wrapped. God knows why he's keeping them handy these days. "And then I need a shower. And possibly coffee."

The plastic wrapping makes crinkley sounds while Ziva twists it in her hands but he doesn't turn around to look at her. By the time he rinses his mouth she has reached the bathroom door and stares at him but he still refuses to acknowledge her presence.

*** *** ***

He presses his hands against the slippery tiles of the shower stall and lowers his head while he lets the hot water pound down onto his back.

He doesn't want to get out of the shower right now, not really. Not when he knows that Ziva is still out there and waiting for him so she can confuse him even more. Not while he isn't sure if he wants her to leave or if he actually wants to be confused.

He doesn't turn when he hears the door slide and Ziva slips into the shower with him. His shoulders tense, but that's about the only indication he gives that he has noticed her, and after a while he feels her getting nervous behind him.

"Want me to wash your back?" she offers hesitantly, and for some reason that's the thing that makes him snap.

She jumps when he whirls around and stalks towards her, crowding her, and part of him is surprised when she actually backs up against the door.

"No, I want you to tell me what the _fuck_ you want from me," he hisses, and she seems to shrink before his eyes, suddenly shuddering hard. He frowns, partly from anger, but also because Ziva doesn't cower. Not the Ziva he knows, anyway.

Then she suddenly raises her chin. "Why should I start?" she asks defensively, but he doesn't fall for the deflection. 

"Oh, I don't know," he snaps at her. "Maybe because _you're_ the one in _my_ apartment and in _my_ shower? Because _you're_ the one waking me up with a blowjob, and yes, that was nice, but what was that for, anyway? And oh, maybe because I already did it before, like, a _dozen_ times, and you have always brushed it off?"

She gasps, and yeah, he knows the last one hurt. He can feel it in his own throat. He didn't mean for it to slip out, but now it sits between them like the giant pink elephant that can't be ignored, and he can't take it back.

Suddenly she has trouble meeting his eyes again, big surprise there, and while her gaze flicks all over the place, she decides to run from him once more.

"This was a bad idea," she mumbles and turns away from him.

She doesn't get far. His flat palm hits the shower door beside her head so hard that Ziva jumps. His arm traps her because for some reason she doesn't dare to touch him now, not even to shove him away.

"Don't run," he says. "Talk."

She is silent for such a long time that he begins to think he lost her. He watches a dozen conflicting emotions chase themselves across her face, and he wants to help her get it out, but he has no idea how. This is something she just has to do on her own. If she doesn't, this thing between them, whatever it is, will be dead before it even took its first breath.

"It's... not that easy," she finally admits, and he cocks his head and gives her a flash of a smile that is meant to be encouraging. She doesn't really notice because she keeps her eyes fixed on his chest. And then she blurts out, barely loud enough to be heard above the water, "I have been trained to get whatever other people want. But that training fails when it comes to what I want."

And then she does raise her eyes to meet his. From the shudder that runs through her he can guess how hard that actually was for her. "I have no idea how to speak for my own needs, Tony."

Something inside him melts at those words, and he watches her so intently that she gets nervous again. He sighs, and then the hint of a smile tugs at his mouth.

"And what is it that you need?" he says softly.

Her eyes widen at the tone he uses, gentle, intimate, even a hint of seduction to it. He watches in fascination how the pulse in her neck starts hammering faster. 

"You," she replies, and that didn't seem too hard. His own pulse jumps to a pounding rhythm, and he has to fight against giving in right then and there because that would be too easy. With everyone else, it might be more than enough, but not with Ziva. With her, there are more things that need to be said.

"And do you actually need _me_?" he keeps pushing her. "Or do you just need me around?"

She blinks. He can see how she is actually thinking about that, and he already loves her for that, even though it would have been wiser to wait how her answer turns out before realizing it.

Then she is done thinking and meets his eyes, and while she takes a breath and drinks in his scent, she tilts her head. Her eyes lower and she stares at his mouth in a slightly dreamy way. Her fingers gently tap the back of his hand, the one that isn't glued to the wall beside her head, and when he accepts the touch, she tugs at his wrist and guides his fingers between her legs.

His eyes flutter shut at the heat that suddenly tickles his fingertips, scorching him. She's so hot and wet and ready that it makes his head spin. He can't help it and slides his hand deeper, and her back arcs in response as she presses into the touch instinctively.

"Jesus, Ziva," he presses out, and he doesn't recognize his own voice suddenly. It takes force to open his eyes again and look at her, and when he does, the heat he feels is mirrored in her face.

"Other people start with kissing, you know," he huffs teasingly, and the corners of her mouth twitch, too. "Or a date."

"You want to date me first?" she asks, pushing her hips down onto his fingers, and he bites back the groan that wants to rise in his throat. "Really?"

"Do you want me to date you?" he shoots back. 

His fingertips feel so at home that he can't stop stroking her, and her eyelids flutter while she tries to concentrate and fails miserably. It's still the only point where he touches her, and from the way her body moves restlessly he can tell that she needs more, much more. But this is all she has allowed him so far, and this whole thing is still her call and she has to actually make that step, he won't do it for her. He can't. And she senses that and gets frustrated again.

Her gaze flutters around and finally settles on his mouth again. His fingers are still busy inside her, and her lips suddenly part in a needy gasp when he flicks her just the right way.

"A kiss would be good," she grinds out. "For a start."

She makes a soft sound against his lips when he leans in to take her mouth, and that sends a hot rush through him. And then she suddenly comes alive against him, pushes her tongue into his mouth and eats him, and those are the same lips that just--

He grunts and pushes her back against the wall, and it takes an amazingly short amount of time until she can ask for something else she wants: to take this back to the bed.

*** *** ***

He grabs a towel and smacks it hard across her butt before she can run out of the bathroom, and she jumps and turns around with a sound of protest on her lips.

"You're wet," he says and throws her the towel. Her lips curl, and he can see the almost dirty thought forming in her mind, but before she can say that one out loud, he snorts, grabs a second towel and begins to dry himself off. "I just put up fresh sheets."

Her smile widens, and while she rubs her wet curls absentmindedly, her eyes travel down his body. He returns the favor because now he is allowed to, and yeah, she was right, not a single tan line anywhere. Just a lot of smooth caramel skin, and God, he hopes he gets to taste some of that soon.

"It's just water, Tony," she says. Her voice is low and rough, and he watches her lick her lips while her eyes follow an errant drop down his chest.

"My bed, my rules," he replies, and his own voice doesn't fare much better. "Get used to it."

The simple words make sudden heat flare in her eyes, and she drops the towel and presses up against him. Her arm comes up around his neck, and he groans when she kisses him hungrily and rubs her body all over him.

Oh, screw the rules.

*** *** ***

He does get to taste her, in great detail and leisure, and just a few, well-structured lessons are enough to teach him what turns her on the most, what makes her speechless and what reduces her to a helpless pile of need.

During the next few hours they also make great progress on the vocal part of their relationship: Ziva not only learns how to ask for what she wants. She learns how to beg.

*** *** ***

She's curled up against him when she asks the question that really matters. Her head is tucked under his chin, her cheek rests against his chest, and her fingertips play all over his skin until he feels goose bumps spread under her lazy exploration.

"Do you want to go to Marseille?" she says, and he blinks and runs his hand down her back slowly when he realizes that this is the one thing he really needs to ask himself. Not if he will go or won't go but if he even _wants_ to go.

"I don't know," he starts out but even as he says it he knows that isn't entirely true. He knows bits and pieces. He just needs to dig a little further through the whole mess of strings attached.

"Jenny offered me Rota," he suddenly says, and Ziva's lazy hand stills on his hip. She draws back so she can look at his face.

"When?"

"After Gibbs came back from Mexico. When he still wasn't quite himself." 

He braces himself for the explosion but there isn't one. Ziva just searches his face curiously while she mulls over that new piece of information in her head.

"And you said no?"

He tries to make one of his usual quips about him obviously still being here but he can't bring himself to brush it off this time, so in the end he shrugs and draws his fingernails teasingly down her arm to distract her from the seriousness of the talk. She still gets it, though, and that is the part that slightly scares him.

"So if you refuse this one, too, you might never get your own team."

He winces and makes a face because he doesn't want to hear that. He's bad with uncomfortable truths. One more thing he blames his father for.

Ziva keeps watching his face, though, and after a while he sighs and wraps his arm around her waist to pull her closer again. She flows into the movement easily.

"So the real question," she says and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, "is if you actually want your own team, yes?"

He turns his head to lose himself in a kiss so he doesn't have to think about all of this but she draws back again and waits for his answer. He sighs and closes his eyes. 

For a while he tries to imagine setting up his own crew, filling the blanks of scientist, nerd and muscle, and it seems so much more impossible than when they just tried to find a replacement for Ziva. He's bad with significant change, too - at least he is ever since Gibbs picked him up like a lost puppy - and after all these years he really can't imagine working with anyone else like that. 

"I don't even want a new team," he says and leans forward until he can rest his forehead against Ziva's. "I'm pretty happy with this one. I love this one. Even McGee."

She doesn't reply, and when he draws back to look at her he finds her expression carefully neutral. Part of him wants her to say something that takes the decision from him. Part of him knows that she's avoiding exactly that.

He tries to imagine working with another girl agent from now on, and he can't. He can't think of anyone who will get him like she does, even when he's being his most annoying. He certainly can't look at anyone else with the same expression he gives her every day. 

And he doesn't want to think about his own replacement. He wants to believe that he's not really replaceable, either, that they'll miss him just as much, but the truth is, they'll get over it, and they'll probably solve just as many cases with the new guy. For a second, he imagines Ziva having eye sex with someone else, and he takes in a sharp breath because that one actually hurt.

"What do _you_ want?" he asks, and her face is torn between looking caught and frowning in concentration. He sees a dozen thoughts rush through her, and he tries to be patient even though it isn't easy. He really doesn't want her to say _'Go ahead, do something for your career, why don't you?'_. But he can't tell her that. It seems like such a stupid, childish thing that they both need each other's support so badly when it comes to making decisions.

"I think," she says, and her voice is so soft that he raises his hand to brush his thumb down her cheek before he even realizes it. She loses the words over the distraction, and she blinks while she tries to recall what she wanted to say.

"Waking up with you was nice," she murmurs eventually, turning her cheek into his palm. "And I would like to do that again." 

His chest is suddenly tight because that is already much more than he expected from her. His heart explodes in his chest and he wants to kiss her again but she raises her hand and runs her fingertips over his mouth and that stops him for now.

"I can't wake up with you if you are in Marseille," she whispers. Her eyes are still fixed on his mouth, and then she suddenly blinks and turns her head away in a gesture that says she's angry at herself for showing him this much.

"Yeah," he murmurs and tries not to show his own shock at the single tear sliding down her cheek. Tries to ignore the way his heart misses a beat here and there. 

And then he gets it, and he suddenly finds that some decisions aren't quite as hard as they seem at first, and he breathes out while he pulls her back to his chest. He's pretty sure this isn't the kind of letting go Gibbs had in mind, but he doesn't care because he's rather proud about finally having a clue. 

Some things you can let go. Others you have to cling to.

"So I need to get used to you hogging the covers now, huh?" he asks.

She breathes out in a shaky laugh and wipes at her face.


End file.
